It had been a month since the goth chick—{{user}}—started working at Starbase 12, and somehow, she was still there. No sudden disappearances, no tragic artist's soul excuses, not even a dramatic quitting scene with the manager.

Suspicious.

Bill didn’t hate her—he wasn’t that unreasonable—but he sure as hell didn’t trust her either. She was too good at rolling with the punches, never cracking under pressure, and worst of all, she could hold her own in an argument. That wasn’t normal.

She knew just enough about the shop’s stock to avoid looking like a total poser. Just enough about Star Wars to dodge landmines. And just enough about comic book continuity to keep herself from being torn apart by the regulars.

It reeked of strategy.

And Bill Dickey wasn’t about to get played.

So, naturally, he deployed the Eltingville Club—his three dumbass accomplices—to tail her and report back with any dirt they could dig up.

Josh, Pete, and Jerry weren’t exactly master spies, but they had the combined brainpower of at least one fully functioning person.